


Self Love

by TheQueen



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Christmas Presents, Drabble, Gen, Hand Jobs, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 17:57:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13128891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheQueen/pseuds/TheQueen
Summary: In which Shiro masturbating is as much a big fuck you to Hagar as it is an act of self love.A Christmas Present to a dear friend <3





	Self Love

There’s power in this.

In the year he has been held captive, forced to fight and perform for a people that could care less that he lived or died, as long as it was bloody and beautiful in the way only sharp blades allowed, Takashi has learned to compartmentalize: his needs vs. his wants. The necessary vs. the less urgent. 

So there is power in taking the time to lock his door and slip off his shirt. Control in his ability to stretch out languidly against the sheets and take a moment to bask in the quiet and peace of this moment. Strength in the moment he lets his hand (it takes an embarrassingly long time to figure out what hand to use, a long solid debate, but even that is his choice) trail down his sides to the waistband of his pants.

His body is a weapon. He has forged it out of sweat and blood and tears in a sand covered arena, and then again on a battlefield fought in metal ships hurting through space at speeds that leave his mind reeling when he’s forced to think about it. (What are the laws of physics in the face of an eternal war and magic?) It is not the body he left earth with. It is not the body he remembers well. 

But it is his.

He wiggles for a moment and flops far too loudly trying to get off his pants before admitting defeat and sitting back up to roll them all the way down. From this angle he can see the new scars on his leg -- new because he doesn’t remember receiving half of them and it makes them all the more alien like one day he woke up and there they were -- making its way from his knee up his inner thigh to wrap around his hip, a sharp pink-brown against tan colored skin. And he leans back until he’s properly horizontal and tries to push it out of his mind. 

But it doesn’t work. Of course not. And… perhaps that shouldn’t be the point. So he takes a deep breath and wiggles until he’s properly on the bed and his head cushioned by his tower of pillows and tries again.

He thinks of past lovers, categorizes his memories into play-by-plays until he can feel their hands on his thighs and on his chest, tracing the delicate lines up the length of his scars. He runs his hands up and down his chest, ghosts of a touch. He wets his fingers in his mouth and takes a nipple in one hand and runs the other along his hardening length. The memory of his last girlfriend playing on repeat: the way she’d moaned and moved, rolling her hips just right and…

He takes a moment to stroke up his length and remembers the way his last boyfriend would suck on his nipples until he was straining in his pants, remembers how they’d laughed and said, “God I didn’t think you could be this pretty.”

(He wonders if they’d still think he was pretty and decides they would. In this moment, they would.) 

He’s hard now. Properly. He takes care to control his breathing, to bite his lip as he works his hand up and down faster and faster and then slow as he remembers the feeling of another person in his bed. He thumbs his head and works the foreskin before sliding back down to the base and squeezing; he imagines it’s his lover -- whoever that might be -- and their hands and the way their weight would feel pressing down against his chest when they’d hold him down. He remembers the first time he’d been pushes into the bed by a person stronger than him. He takes deep breath. 

He doesn’t realize his eyes are closed until his skin catches and he realizes abruptly he doesn’t have any lotion. “Come on,” he grumbles softly, breathing hard. He feels his attention wane, lets his hand drop from his chest back to the bed and thinks. He could sneak into the kitchen but knows putting on pants just means chickening out.

And he wants to do this; not out of some sort of self pity or because he has to. He wants to feel good. He deserves to feel good. So he closes his eyes, licks his palm, and tries again. 

This time he doesn’t think of past lovers. This time he focuses on the sensation of his hand around his cock and moves his other hand down to grab his balls, to squeeze them softly before moving lower to press a single finger against his entrance. It’s been too long since he’s been fucked, he thinks. It’s been too long since someone has opened Shiro up with fingers and tongue. Too long since someone held him down and made him burn. 

(He makes a note to be better prepared next time because there will be a next time.) 

For now, he moves his finger in circles just tracing the rim as he works his hand faster and faster, feels his chest tightening as pleasure and warmth from head to toe. He gasps as his runs the tips of his nails along the vein and feels the pleasure just barely mixes with pain. 

I wants more, Shiro thinks. He presses hard against his entrance, just enough to keep from entering and feels the burn. Next time and the thought is enough for him to tip his head back and bites his lip to suppress a groan as his toes curl. Next time...

When he cums its abrupt -- less a wave and more a crash. It comes just before he can catch his breath and muffle his moans. It comes coursing through his veins as his stomach tightens and his body lifts slightly as if to curl in and brace himself. He cums sharp, splattering against his own chest and catching the majority of it in his hand. 

He gasps as he settles back down, feels his knees shaking slightly as he lowers his legs. His hand is gross, sticky and he feels the cum drip down his arm. He’ll take a shower soon, he decides. The bathroom just on the other side of the room. 

For now he catches his breath. 

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas Kepho! <3 After 7 years of friendship, I finally gift you porn. :P Hope it was good considering I haven't seen/touched a dick in 3.5 years lol
> 
> And as always, please let me know what you think everyone :D


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